Late for Church

Warm water flowed past my body where I laid in the gutter. My back was hurting and my legs were on strike. Sirens got closer and I wondered about what might be in store if my injuries were serious.

I lived in South Central Nebraska just a few minutes after getting out of the Army. When you live in rural areas it is common to put in a few miles when searching for a mate. This particular Sunday I was heading for Columbus for a date but since we lived in the bible belt I had to go to church as part of the vetting process her dad was putting me through.

It was roughly 90 miles from my house to Columbus in a steady light rain. Being late summer meant warm rain which is nice when riding my 1986 Honda 700 Magna compared to the cold, nasty rain the poor souls suffer through in the Pacific Northwest.

The coffee was putting a lot of pressure on my bladder but I couldn’t risk being late for  church being how important church is after all but I did finally stop for a minute to put on my helmet due to the sting. 60 mph rain hurts like hell. So much for being a tough guy.

I had nearly caught up with the front of the storm when Columbus rolled towards my bike. The steam was rising because it was a hot sunny morning with a fast-moving storm front. As they say “Quick to come, quick to go.” So the front moved in and dumped rain on hot streets making it a temporary steam spa. Man, I had to pee!

Back before smart phones and GPS navigation, folks had to memorize directions, ask, or use a map. I used all three in general but this time I had memorized so I knew the church was well within my time structure. Suddenly my eyes swerved to the right to memorize the way a set of back pockets were stretched over some woman’s backside. (Just another map to remember in case I’m in the area again and need to know my way around).

Too late… I should have been texting. It would have been safer. Some woman was waiting patiently for traffic to clear and I ran smack into the back of her. A witness commented that I did cartwheels like a kitten tossed from the car window but I was more worried about how bad I had to pee which was worse because now I was lying in warm water.

Ahhh. The sirens were for me.

After a lifetime of reading in the Reader’s Digest about how gentle the ambulance drivers move people with possible back injuries, I got a dose of a different reality. Riding in an ambulance does make you feel pretty special knowing that people have to pull over but I’d rather be in the Presidential motorcade.

Mrs. Robinson was taking scissors to my wet blue jeans against my wishes. Well, truthfully,  I was hoping to have my jeans removed when I headed out this morning but this ain’t what I had in mind. Now I’m out another 20 bucks.

Now Mrs. Robinson was real young and real pretty. I casually noticed all the other nurses had their REAL names on their name tags but she was using a fake name on her tag. See, the girls that parted innocent lads of excess military pay tended to use names like Midnight Fyre, Scarlette Fever, or Shania Twain. Funny, now that I think of it, no one has EVER used Hillary as a name to denote any kind of attractiveness. Anyway, Mrs Robinson was doing the exact opposite to push away flirty advances. I was in no mood to flirt however, I had to pee.

The folks that make a living interrogating injured people wanted to know if I was on drugs or alcohol and even though the answer was clearly stated they seemed unconvinced and wanted a urine sample. NOW they were talking my language! Mrs. Robinson brought in a tiny little Dixie Cup as exhibit A for any potential trial and I told her “That ain’t gonna be big enough. You got something a bit bigger?” She brought back a stainless steel lemonade pitcher and left the room.

I gave them a sample that they are probably still using today. A girl came and picked it up and said “oh my!” and as she left I heard laughter coming from out in the hall. Whoo! Finally.

After a bit of imaging magic and a double dose of morphine I was good to go. The girl who I was supposed to be meeting was at the hospital. They could hear the racket of all the sirens at church and with  a bit of small town gossip they were pretty sure why I hadn’t shown up.

“Well, you still want to hang out?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why Not?”

“Daddy says I can’t date you because you were late for church.”

 

 

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11 thoughts on “Late for Church

  1. You weren’t focusing on where you were going… So karma stepped in and gave you something else to focus on… Too bad it was only your bladder that got any action that day… Smirk 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yup..always 4he truth.. When riding a bike, you are headed in the wrong direction if you look away…Hmmmm…did I just end a sentence with a preposition? Too bad you lost your PROPosition, but it helped to put you in the correct one later (another preposition)…. Better quit before a third one happens… Nice comfortable syntax….keep writing as you speak… Delightful…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Come to think of it
    I was late to church on the day I got married but that’s a whole different story… One involving a can of Nair and blood coming from the pores on my legs… Hmm It could have the same title…

    Liked by 1 person

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